“Nay. I can hunt as good as Dagr can. He’s only eight,” Kyra muttered.
“Of course you can. I’m sure your Da will take you next time. I’m sure he just thought you might want to spend some time with us women,” Maggie offered.
“Why? So I can act like a lady? I’ll never be a lady, Mama. Never.”
Maggie bit back her smile.
“There’s nothing wrong with being a lady, sweetheart. And it’s something you can’t help, if you’re asking. You’ll grow up whether you want to or not.”
Maggie instantly regretted her carefree response when Kyra’s fists clenched into knots at her sides and her round blue eyes filled with tears. Placing her working knife aside, Maggie wiped her hands and took Kyra into her arms.
“Sweetie, what on earth is going on?” she murmured, kissing her daughter’s forehead. A muffled cry escaped Kyra, and Maggie felt her body shudder.
“I don’t ever wanna grow up. I never want babies, I never want a husband. Not even Morgan!” Krya sobbed. Maggie sighed and held her tighter, rocking her gently as she had when she was a babe.
Gwen and Ellie looked up at them over the steam of the house kettle but did not approach.
“Shh, shh,” Maggie whispered. “Someday you might change your mind on that, but for now you needn’t worry on it.”
“Rebecca died, Mama! She’s dead, all because of–because of that baby!” Kyra insisted.
“It’s not his fault. It’s not anyone’s fault,” Maggie replied, at loss to console her daughter. She wanted to tell her that these things rarely happened. She wanted to tell her it was not normal to die in childbirth. Yet the stark reality of it was that her explanation would be a lie.
Perhaps in the future, women did not routinely die in childbirth. In the seventeenth century, however, it was more likely to happen than not.
“Then why did Uncle Makedewa leave? Why won’t he come home?” Kyra demanded.
“I don’t know, sweetie. I don’t know,” Maggie replied. She wished she knew the answer to that question as well.
“Promise me you’ll never make me get married, Mama. Please.” Kyra fussed like a hummingbird in her arms, her dirt-stained fingers clutching Maggie’s shift.
“Kyra…someday you might feel different.”
The child twisted suddenly away.
“I won’t, Mama. And if ye make me do it, I’ll hate ye. I will. And Da, too!” Kyra shouted. Maggie closed her eye with a sigh as Kyra darted out of the Longhouse, her ermine cape flapping behind her.
When Maggie looked back at the women, Gwen made a shooing motion as she rocked the baby.
“Go on, I’ll see to this wee one,” Gwen said. Elli shook her head and resumed her chores as Maggie left to catch Kyra.
She scooped Malcolm up into her arms and kicked at the dirt with a swipe and a sigh as she walked. It was a juvenile gesture, one more in line with what Kyra would do, but heck if she had any experience with angry adolescent girls. Bereft of a mother and raised by two men, she did not have much insight into how a mother would console a child. She could only do what felt right, try to answer Kyra’s questions, and let the girl know how much she loved her. It seemed the only thing left to do.
As she searched the courtyard for Kyra, her eyes fell on a figure by the corral. Tall and dark haired, his broad shoulders sheltered by a thick wool cape, Maggie did not recognize him right off. She knew the men were hunting, she was sure none had stayed behind except maybe crooked Old Olaf, and he spent most days rocking in a chair next to Finola. Since the tall man tied his mount to a post by the corral with the other horses she did not feel alarmed, but when she saw Kyra approach him, her panic sensors sparked into overdrive. She plunked Malcolm down firmly on the ground next to the well.
“Don’t you move until I come back,” she said, giving him her stern look. Mal grinned in return and she set off to see what business the stranger had in her village.
His back was to her as she approached. Still too far away, she watched him bend down to speak with Kyra. To her dismay, a tentative smile creased Kyra’s face.
When the stranger lifted Kyra onto his horse, Maggie pulled her knife from her pocket and broke into a run.
CHAPTER 8
Benjamin
“There should be no trouble, my lord,” Reinn assured Agnarr.
Benjamin continued working his ledger book, keeping his eyes cast downward as he listened to the conversation. Neither Agnarr nor Reinn made any care to conceal their discussion, yet another plan to drive the Indian tribes further west. Every parcel of land that Agnarr helped clear was another workable piece of property – one that tobacco would grow on, and another means to line his pockets. There was a reason Agnarr was one of the wealthiest citizens in the colony. His willingness to eradicate the natives was matched by none.
“Good. Ye say it is a small village? Send only a few men, then, and leave the rest.” Agnarr leaned back in his thick tufted chair as he answered, taking a long drag from a carved ivory pipe. It was one of the many unique trinkets he confiscated from new arrivals to his port, including his last search of a ship carrying trade goods from the Far East.
“Aye, a small one, but the leader is a fearsome sort. Our Indian tracker says they call him Winkeohkwet – The Raven.”
Benjamin’s hand tightened into a fist beneath the table. He had watched the English destroy village after village, forcing the Indians to move or be moved. Although he knew someday Winn’s village would be in danger, the reality of it hit him like a blow in the gut.
It was time. His debt must be paid, his duty satisfied.
He would not allow Agnarr to harm his kin.
“Oh, fearsome, ye say? Well, shall we make a day of it? I will accompany ye, and we will take a few soldiers as well. What harm can a few arrows be when we have so many muskets to make our persuasion?” Agnarr answered.
“As you wish, my lord,” Reinn agreed. “I will prepare the men.”
Benjamin did not look up as Reinn left the room. Even when Agnarr cleared his throat in that definitive manner that meant he was preparing to speak, Benjamin continued to focus on the ledger numbers on the desk. Never one to be ignored, however, Agnarr was quick to engage Benjamin in a dialogue.
“So it seems I shall be engaged for most of the day. I expect you will keep matters in order here?” Agnarr commented casually, as if his words were mere requests instead of commands. Benjamin nodded, scribbling figures into the ledger book.
“As always,” he answered. He felt his skin prickle at the nape of his neck and the telltale dampness of sweat on his brow. He had to do something, warn the villagers – but how, without arousing Agnarr’s suspicions? Hurriedly he added, “I must retrieve the ledgers from the tavern, but that shall not keep me away for long. Profits were good this quarter, ye shall be pleased with the return.”
“Fair enough,” said Agnarr, standing up from his chair. He glanced at himself in a wall mirror as he turned toward the door, unable to resist smoothing back his elegantly coiffed hair. With a wry grin at his own reflection, he uttered a low chuckle. “And Jora will join us for the evening meal? I do so miss her. It seems you hide her away from me.”
Agnarr’s declaration was grumbled as he admired his own countenance.
“Of course not. I am sure she will be pleased to join us tonight.”
“Good. See that she does.” Agnarr finally abandoned admiring himself and pushed open the door. “Oh, and Benjamin?”
A bead of sweat slid down his face, tickling his ear as it went on its path. He swallowed slowly, trying to ignore the nagging sensation.
“Yes, my lord?” he answered evenly.
“Has my ward been absent for some reason? Perhaps her condition warrants rest?”
Struggling to contain his composure, Benjamin met Agnarr’s gaze across the room.
“My wife was feeling poorly, but she is recovered. It was no matter to worry over, and it is passed now. Ease your mind. Ye need not dwell on it,” he rep
lied. He chose his words with care, giving Agnarr enough information to provide the older man assurance without leading to more questions. Every moment they spent making small talk was keeping him away from helping his brother; Winn needed to be warned of Agnarr’s arrival – and Benjamin was the only one who could do it.
Agnarr nodded, his hint of a grin leveling out into a thin line.
“Until tonight then, my friend.”
When the door closed behind his partner, Benjamin let out a deep breath. He wiped the sweat from his brow and rested his chin on his clasped fists for a moment, knowing he had precious little time to dwell on his worries. He must act and he must do it immediately, lest the life of those he was swore to protect would be in danger.
He shoved away the part of him that said to wait, to gauge his options, to come up with a sensible plan. Instead, he embraced the loyalty that still bound him, the loyalty that would not leave him no matter how many times he stood by and watched Agnarr’s devious deeds.
Jora was dressing when he entered their room and he quickly stepped up behind her to help tighten the stays she struggled with. Her long dark hair brushed his wrists as he tied her, her breath expelling in a squeak when he pulled too harshly.
“I thank ye,” she said, her words strained. He noticed when she placed her hand on her waist, closing his eyes for a moment when her palm slipped down briefly over her lower belly.
“How do ye feel this morn?” he asked.
“I shall abide,” she sniped. He sighed. She did not move away when he placed his hands on her shoulders, and for a moment he thought he felt her lean back into his arms. Yet Jora was stronger than that, and as quick as he had felt her soften to him, she moved away even faster. “’Tis better now that the courses have stopped,” she said softly.
He gripped her shoulders at her words, swallowing back his own grief. It had been more than a week since the loss of the babe. Despite the imminent danger of what the child could mean to Agnarr, Jora had been happy when she told Benjamin the news. She said she saw their future, and despite Benjamin’s fears she knew that someday a dark-eyed little boy would be at Benjamin’s side. Her sight had always led to the truth in the past, something they could rely on to point the way when the path was unclear. This time, however, he wondered if her heart had not led her gift astray.
“I am glad to see ye well,” he replied. At loss to form words that might ease her pain, he stumbled over how to console her. The valley between them was wider than the strain of their recent loss. It was a marriage mottled with mistrust and fear, neither of which he had any notion of how to dispel.
And when Benjamin told her he must leave, he knew it might be the last nail in the coffin of what tenuous bond they still shared.
“Stay here for the day, away from the men. I must leave ye now, but I shall return soon.”
Her shoulders stiffened beneath his fingers as she turned to face him. She did not pull away from his touch, but her chin dipped down and she shook her head a bit, as if to herself.
“How can ye leave now? I know I mean verra little to ye, but ye would let me face him myself –”
Not entirely meaning to, he shook her as he bent to meet her lowered gaze, producing a swell of tears let loose from her round eyes.
“Ye are my wife. I willna let Agnarr harm ye, that is why I ask ye to stay here. He is off with Reinn today on business, but even so, I will rest easy knowing ye are safe in our room.”
“As long as ye rest easy, then I shall do as ye say,” she said. He words were compliant, but her tone was anything but submissive.
“I would not leave ye now if there were another way,” he replied.
“Then I wish ye a speedy return, husband,” she whispered.
He wanted to argue, wanted to hold her, but there was no time for such things and she would not permit his attention in any case. He knew there was something broken inside her and he knew he was responsible for it. Someday he hoped they could mend it – someday when he did not have a duty he must place above all others.
Letting his hands fall away from her, he stepped back and opened the door. He could feel her gaze bore into his spine as much as he had felt her flesh beneath his fingers only moments before.
“I know ye think ye must go. But ye have reason to stay here, as well,” she said.
He bowed his head, closing his eyes for a moment before he stepped through the door.
“I will return to ye,” he said quietly.
He did not wait for her response before he left.
It was not long before Reinn and Agnarr departed with a group of hired men and a handful of English soldiers. Benjamin followed shortly after, leaving the safety of the common trails and instead making his own path through Indian lands. Agnarr was a man who would not sacrifice his own comfort for a day of dalliance harassing the natives, and Benjamin was counting on them sticking to the much less troublesome main routes.
Smoke escaped from the top of the Northern Hall as he rode into the village, but other than that telltale sign from the smoke hole, there seemed to be very little activity. He could hear the murmur of voices and the squeal of a child, typical sounds of a busy village.
Everything appeared normal – except that he saw or heard no men.
His horse stomped at a fly as he looped the rein over the corral fence. There was little time to waste before the English arrived, and if Benjamin were found aiding the villagers, he could be hanged. He needed to act without haste.
“Why are ye here?”
Benjamin turned to find Kyra staring up at him, hands perched on her hips as if she meant to scold him. If the situation was not so dire he might have laughed, but being she was one of those he meant to protect he stifled his amusement.
“Well, to see ye, of course,” he replied, bending down so that he might look her in the eye. She seemed to appreciate the gesture, flashing a wide smile at him.
“Have ye seen Morgan, sir?” she asked, her cheeks flushing with color. “I mean, he’s not visited of late.”
“Nay, I havna seen him. Tell me, where is yer father?” Benjamin replied. She pushed her hair behind her ear and shrugged, her sunny smile fading into a scowl.
“Hunting. All the men are hunting. They’ll no return ‘til dark.”
It might be good fortune that the men were away, but the cold feeling in his gut surged in spite of it. There was no reason for bloodshed when Agnarr’s men arrived; it should be a simple notification of the Crown’s intent to make use of the land. With no men in the village to argue, the transaction might occur without incident. It was only when the natives resisted that there was trouble.
“Where is yer mother? With the women?” he asked.
“Yes. They’re cooking.” Kyra pointed to the Northern Hall with a shrug. She let out a squeak when he picked her up and tossed her onto his horse. “I canna leave, Momma willna let me!”
“Quiet now, keep yer seat. I’ll fetch yer brother and Ma, and then ye need to ride downstream. Doona kick that beast yet, he’s a flighty sort.”
He was pulling the girth tight when he heard footsteps behind him, and before he could utter a word in defense, he was grabbed by his arm and fingernails bit into his flesh. His reaction was one of self-preservation when he saw the flash of a knife.
With his two large hands he subdued her, closing one hand over her mouth and the other around her waist. She twisted around in his arms, but he easily blocked her blows until she sank her teeth into the flesh of his hand. At that, he turned her to face him, shaking her like a rag with one hand as he plucked the knife from her fingers.
“Just what do you think you’re doing with my daughter?” Maggie demanded. “You won’t be taking her anywhere –”
“Jesus, Maggie! There’s no time for this!” Benjamin hollered.
“Benjamin? What the hell? What are you doing?”
Stunned for a moment, she tried to draw away from him but he held her without fail.
“Where are the boys?”
he asked. “Where are the boys, Maggie?”
His frantic voice lowered an octave as he shook her and she stared back at him as if she had lost her sense. For a moment, he thought she had.
“Mal is by the well. What is going on –” she stammered, but he cut her off.
“There’s no time. They’re coming here to the village. Where are all the men? Why are there none here to protect ye women? Tell me!” he snapped. She went rigid as he shook her again, her eyes glazed with confusion.
“They’re with Winn,” she whispered. “The men are all hunting. They’re not here.”
“Jesus. They leave ye unprotected? Alone?” Benjamin cursed.
“They’re not far – and we need the food!” she shot back, obviously incensed with any criticism of Winn. Benjamin stifled the rest of the rant that bubbled to the surface. It was none of his concern how his brother tended his village.
The peril of their situation suddenly burned deep. They were about to be raided by the English, and they needed to come up with a plan.
“The English, ye say?” Gwen interrupted. Benjamin loosened his hold on Maggie, who promptly stepped back. Gwen eyed him up, a scathing glare from head to foot, as if his very presence offended her senses. With a grubby hand clutching her skirt, Malcolm toddled behind her.
“The English are coming to serve ye notice. If ye do as yer bidden they’ll serve ye and leave, but best Maggie and the children stay out of sight. Agnarr travels with them.”
He noted Gwen’s eyes widened, but there was no additional sign of recognition from Maggie, whose face remained pensive. He did not have time nor was he willing to discuss why Agnarr was a danger, so he was relieved to see Gwen understood.
“I thought that wee bastard was dead,” she said.
“Not hardly. He keeps to his own, except when he has cause.” Benjamin looked Gwen in the eye, willing her to understand. “Best we send Winn’s family away for a spell.”
Gwen nodded, her throat visibly tightening. She darted a glance at Maggie, who cocked a brow at the both of them.
The Blooded Ones Page 71
